Pact of Blood
by OurUsernameIsALie
Summary: War has become all but legend. Pollution, global warming, corruption, stealing, murdering— any and all crimes committed by man have tipped the balance, and it has been taking its toll on the anthropomorphic personifications of its respective nation. An international conspiracy is rising among the personifications to build a global empire. This is the Pact of Blood.
1. INTRODUCTION

**WARNING: Fanfiction may contain angst, triggering topics, hamburgers, ships breaking apart, violence, gore, humour, bitch-slaps, Italy Romano's soap-needing mouth, snapped!nations, swearing, and many other frightening topics.**

The authoresses of this collaboration fanfiction do _not_ own Hetalia, or our ships would've come true, ship wars would stir, more angst would occur, history would be shown more, and many more changes.

This fanfiction has been made for _entertainment_ purposes only and does not earn cash in any way or manner.

In respect for all ships, there are no _official_ ships for this fanfic. Ships shall only be hinted and may be taken as platonic or romantic love, depending on the reader (Hooray for multishipping!). Headcanons are drizzled here and there for the sake of plot.

 _Accents_ are also used at a minority in this fanfiction to provide diversity for each character.

THERE ARE SONGS AT THE BEGINNING OF THE CHAPTERS AND WE RECOMMEND YOU ALL TO LISTEN TO 'EM.

 _HUMAN NAMES_ (and certain selected fan names) AND _COUNTRY NAMES_ ARE BOTH USED.

Please do enjoy this fanfiction that we've poured our blood, sweat, and tears into.

* * *

 **SUMMARY**

" _We're puppets with strings and our people control us. If they wish for war, we wish for war. If they fight with a country, we fight with its personification. The forlorn part of it is that we can not do anything about it._ "

War has become all but legend. Pollution, global warming, corruption, stealing, murdering- any and all crimes committed by man have tipped the balance, and it has been taking its toll on the anthropomorphic personifications of its respective nation. Long gone are the days where a stranger shall encounter a stranger and they shall exchange smiles and compliments before continuing their day, as they have been replaced with paranoia if the next person one meets is preparing for homicide. Sides have been taken in the three way war of nations.

An international conspiracy rises among the personifications to build a global empire- and the supporters claim the name of the Allied Powers, the opposers claim the name of the Axis Powers, and those neutral claim the name of the Associated Powers.

"Blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb," is the only rule that applies in this chaos. As families are torn apart and as treaties and alliances are made, one colour stains them all. The blood of the covenant.

This is the Pact of Blood.


	2. Wie Jene Will Ich's Wagen

Chapter 1: Wie Jene Will Ich's Wagen

" _Nie werd ich bang verzagen,_

 _Wie jene will ich's wagen_

 _Sei's trüber Tag, sei's heitrer Sonnenschein,_

 _Ich bin ein Preuße, will ein Preuße sein._ "

-Lyric from _Preußenlied_ (English: _Song of Prussia_ )

China muffled his mouth, suppressing a cough. A wave of dizziness overtook him, his vision wavered. He leaned on the wall as his chest ached, a second wave of coughs escaping his dry mouth.

What were his people doing? Well, as of the late, many of his cities have been boosting _his_ rank as the most polluted country, and it wasn't flattering one bit. _Paging me for a migraine_ , thought Yao. The pollution was taking its toll on the old nation, dulling his senses and giving him an appearance that resembled the ghosts one would see in a stereotypical Japanese horror movie.

His once-sparkling eyes have dimmed into a monotone shade and his neatly styled hair may have retained its signature ponytail, but it was sloppily tied with stray strands flying in all directions as if he was struck by lightning.

 _Nothing_ can describe his envy for America. The superpower had this uncanny ability to remain cheerful despite the workload he received. For a short period of time, Alfred himself was the most polluted country, with China overtaking just recently. Suicide rates have skyrocketed and, as of the year 2015, he went from the 50th in the countries with the most suicides to the _30th_. His country also led the march of highest obesity, eating disorder, and heart disorder rates.

Compare that to China, despite being one of— no, wait, the number one most polluted country, what he had was _nothing_ compared to him.

Breathing deeply, Yao let out a strangled cry of frustration. Bringing up his fist, he punched the nearest object to him— which happened to be the concrete wall. A crack appeared where he hit it, a deep dent leaving its mark. A slight pang of guilt passed through him for the poor and unfortunate janitor. Then again, no one has bothered to fix the defective water sprinklers and the broken ventilation.

"Kesesesesesese..." The faint and distant laugh made him stiffen in surprise. Was he going insane already? Has his age finally caught up with him just as the idiotic Alfred suggested?

China's alertness faltered as he coughed once again, smoke filling his lungs and disappearing as soon as it appeared. The lingering scent of burning plastic was all Yao could smell, and it wasn't flattering one bit. His mouth felt dry as if multiple insects nested in it for weeks. The faint noise of his people's riots echoed in his ears.

Forcing himself to walk in a straight line was hard, but making a sharp turn was harder. Yao collided with the wooden doors to the meeting room, causing a slight shake on its surface. _My eye and foot coordination is spot on, aru_ , he thought bitterly, _note the sarcasm._

Voices leaked out from the gap on the door and Yao had second thoughts of entering when the sound of arguing reached his ears. Maybe he should just return home and enjoy a cup of tea and leave those idiots to alone...

 _I will regret this decision_ , China thought as his hand reached the doorknob. Turning the handle, he inhaled sharply as he was met with the typical bickering floating around. Irritation evident on his face, he made his way to his seat, an— _American invented_ —swivel office chair.

The pounding in his head continued to burn as he propped his elbows on the table, leaning his chin against his fist.

"THE HERO HAS ARRIVED." The doors slammed open as explosion sound effects flooded the room. All nations ceased conversations as _John Cena's Theme Song_ began playing as Alfred entered the room in all his glory. Groans and the sound of mock clapping occurred once the explosions and music stopped.

Yao sighed in exasperation, envy oozing out of him at the cheerful and flamboyant nation.

How on earth was the nation so cheerful? Come to think of it, China hasn't seen America drop his carefree demeanour. Perhaps he's suicidal for his people and does not care— a horrible nation indeed, then. _What kind of a representative does he think he is, aru?_

"Alright, I believe ve are komplete," Ludwig proclaimed, "please take your seats as ve shall diskuss our first topik." As he stood up, his powerful German accent-tinted voice echoed throughout the room as the noise, once again, died down as each nation began scampering towards their chosen seat. Some even took out their laptops or notebooks to take down notes.

China, himself, was supposed to host the meeting due to its location in his capital; but, as per usual, Germany took over due to the unbearable chaos that always took place in meetings.

"Our first topik shall be global varming," Ludwig spoke the foreword, "I vould like to start vith the fakt that there is an overuse of fossil fuels and oil." He paused as he gestured to the abundance of coal and containers of oil in front of him; prompting some nations to crane their necks to see. "If any of you have any proposals or presentations on this topik, please raise your hand."

Immediately, an arm rose up as those words left Germany's lips. An ecstatic America grinned proudly as he impatiently waved. England, who had been sitting opposite to America, sighed in exasperation. _I'd feel sorry for him_ , China thought, _if he weren't such a whiny brat_. Ludwig glanced around the room, pleading for another person to present their 'proposal'.

Giving up, Ludwig sighed. "Alright, _Amerika_ —"

The sound of broken glass cut him off and reverted everyone's attention to the window. A grey blur had broken through it and fixated itself on the opposite wall. _A grappling hook, aru?_ China thought. Groans immediately began resonating around the room at the recognition of that signature entrance.

"I AM AVESOME." A familiar voice proclaimed. Germany face palmed as a growing silhouette began appearing on the window. Gilbert smashed through the building window, a smirk playing on his lips. The albino landed on the head of the table in front of his brother, quickly detaching his grappling hook and belt before striking a pose. Attached to the German's wrists were flashing neon bracelets which appeared to change colour at a fast pace. Yao, along with many others including Germany, sighed in monotone.

" _Preußen_ , how many times have I told you not to gatekrash into meetings?" Ludwig deadpanned, to which Prussia merely let out his signature laugh. _So that was the obnoxious noise I heard in the hallway_ , thought China drily, _at least I am not going insane_.

"Lighten up, _mein bruder_!" Gilbert jumped off the table and sat down on his said brother's seat, propping his feet on the wooden table, narrowly knocking off a piece of coal.

Seizing the opportunity to present, America flamboyantly stood up, waving his arms to attract all the nations' attentions. Many turned away and plugged their ears whilst others merely glared or stared at him in a nonchalant manner. Germany's expression held dramatic regret for his own decision as he brought an extra and empty seat next to his brother. "It's the Hero's turn to share his proposal!" The look on his face showed little to no reaction to the bluntly shown boredom and lack of enthusiasm of his fellow nations.

A contagious smile settled itself on Alfred's face. "With the help of my alien friend, Tony, we shall create a cyborg alien soldier army—led by me, of course—powered by hamburgers to stop global warming! The army shall be made with the ability to shift into flying hero drones to vacuum the smoke and pollution away and move it elsewhere! And the best part? I will be forcing—ahem, asking—Donald Trump to pay for _all_ the expenses!" He let out a laugh.

The concluding sentence made a few nations smile meekly and a select few picked up on his contagious yet obnoxious laughter. Except, Yao wasn't part of any of those select few. The sheer volume of the American's voice was enough to send his mind spiralling into _tralala_. His migraine worsening, China felt annoyance prick through him as Alfred continued to expand his barbaric idea.

"Will you just shut up, aru?" Yao slammed his hand on the table, standing straight up. "That is not going to work, _Meiguó_!"

"It is, China! Believe me because I'm the hero!" America laughed once again.

"Then—" Cutting off Yao was the sound of Prussia, suddenly, letting out a groan.

His head lolled back before twisting and shifting its weight. Gilbert's white mess of hair collided with the table, his limbs giving way and dropping down. Many panicked screams came forth as blood leaked out of Prussia's lips and he appeared to have stopped breathing.

"That's what he deserves, aru," China wanted to say, but the words quickly died down in his throat and his eyes widened as his brain began processing the events. Was the Prussian really dying? Then, why now and not when Prussia was officially dissolved after the Second World War? Or when East Germany, which he represented after the nation of Prussia's dissolution, dissolved in 1990? Why give the nations time to grow attached on the albino? Why let him live as an immortal despite having no more purpose? Even if Yao despised him for his pranks, he _was_ one of China's biggest trade partners... before he dissolved.

And here he was, finally fading away.

China suddenly felt something sting his eye. A hot liquid threatened to spill. No, he wasn't going to cry. Not now, not ever. _This is normal_ , he tried to comfort himself, _plenty of nations and empires have already died before me and I've watched them before with my own eyes_.

He could only slump down into his seat and watch from afar as those seated around Gilbert began to scurry around to give the said ex-nation air. Prussia was laid on the table carefully in an eagle position, his face looking up towards the ceiling. His eyes were closed and his smug expression remained.

Hungary, who had been, conveniently, sitting right to Germany's old seat, was busy counting the albino's heartbeat and pulse. A panicked expression on her face, she was making thrusts onto Prussia's chest— as if first aid could help the fallen nation. She ceased her vain attempts and buried her face onto Roderich's shoulder.

" _Mon ami, Prusse_ , you are not dying, _oui_? Ze you awesome iz not dying!" France was clutching a rabbit foot desperately, his fingers digging into its fur.

"Prussia, y-you're not-a dying, ve?" Italy Veneziano cried, latching onto Germany. Ludwig had his hand covering his mouth, silent tears streaming down his face. His eyes were shut close as his shoulders shook ever-so slightly, as if he was attempting to deny his mourning. What had applied the most salt to many's wounds was that Germany's posture and expression remained solemn. Here Prussia was, dying _,_ and he was still attempting to maintain a strict façade for the sake of others.

 _Tweet! Tweet!_ The small sound of chirping did not help the forlorn nations as Gilbird, in all his glory, peaked out from the albino's white hair.

China inwardly cringed at how the small bird appeared to be oblivious to its owner's condition. Many had, apparently, thought this in unison with Yao as a wave of nations merely cried harder or—in Ludwig and a select few's case—turned away and blocked off their ears. Any minute now, the small bird and his kin too would die after their owner.

 _But why did the small bird look so alive and well, aru—?_

Out of the grey, Gilbert's hand shot up and latched onto the first object it struck. His hand grappled onto Austria's forearm— to which the aristocrat let out a hoarse scream of German profanity. The albino's eyes snapped open, revealing his glistening ruby red eyes. As everyone expected him to utter his final partings, they weren't prepared for what _did_ leave Prussia's lips.

"Kesesesese!" He let out his signature laugh. "Your reaktions are gold! I'm too avesome to die and all of you should know that! _April Fools_!"

Line Break

It was all meant to be a 'harmless' prank as Prussia planned. He'd scare the living daylights out of everybody and he'd 'resurrect' from the dead— _awesomely_ , of course.

He didn't expect for himself to be tackled by the Austrian and hugged fiercely. The wind was knocked out of Prussia as he felt his shirt get soaked with hot liquid. Roderich buried his face on Gilbert's shoulder, as if afraid the said nation would and could disappear at any moment.

"Do not do such atrocious things ever again, _Preußen_!" the aristocrat sobbed, "I vas so afraid you vere gone!"

Prussia, admittedly, felt a _tad_ bit of guilt for the land-locked nation and the other onlookers. Though their reactions were somewhat amusing, they might have really thought he _died_. Was his act that believable? _I'm just too avesome_ , Gilbert thought to himself, _and my prank vas also avesome!_ Those words sounded empty as Austria was shoved away and the Hungarian woman pulled his wrist and raised her right hand—

 _Smack!_

"How kould you do such a zhing, you _bastard_?" Elizabeta seethed and many nations gasped in surprise. The albino held his left cheek in surprise, he was sure a red mark was already developing in midst of the pain. _Speechless_ was all one could use to describe the onlookers as many stood with their mouths agape. Hungary, once again, opened her mouth to speak.

" _Ungarn_ ," Germany sharply cut off the Hungarian woman from ranting a sermon, "I know you are overprotektive of _mein bruder_ lest dissol—dea— _darkness_ klaim him," Ludwig's hesitation was noticed by many, "but you must be appreciative that he is still living flesh and bones and not ashes in a jar."

Elizabeta recoiled instantaneously as Ludwig's very own scolding session continued, she then bowed her head in shame.

"This is to prove how important _Preußen_ really is to us," Germany stated before tuning to his brother, "but please do not do anything similar to this ever again." Prussia found himself slowly nodding and accepting the blame of the 'damages' caused by his joke. _The avesome me might have vent a little too far_ , he thought.

Having gotten Feliciano off his arm and having wiped his eyes clean, the ever-so stoic Ludwig began to revert to his strict façade. "Ve shall now resume this meeting," he said.

Prussia returned to his— _Germany's initial_ —seat, guilt beginning to fill his head and, figuratively, his heart. _Now I feel unavesome_ , the albino thought, _I should apologise to Vest later. If I vere him, I vould have gotten mad with vorry and panik_. Gilbert knows exactly how his brother handles mourning and loss— but, right now, _Prussia's_ the cause of it. Cupping the forgotten Gilbird into his hands, a goal imprinted itself onto his mind as he tucked the small chick into his hair.

He's going to make up to his _bruder_.

Obedience and orderliness are two things his brother loves— so Gilbert decides to shut his mouth and listen attentively to whatever occurs at the meeting.

The meeting retained most of its carefree atmosphere from before— _most_. A select few were not as loud as before and kept sending not-so discreet glances at the Prussian. Mild bickering, eventually, began to overtake the silence. Nations began to act as if the prank never occurred— either that or they didn't care, and the latter did not sound particularly flattering.

Twitching in his seat, Gilbert had a pounding urge to join in the noise and preach his awesomeness. Awesome habits die hard, it seemed.

 _I promised this for Vest,_ he kept telling himself. He repeated those words as he ducked underneath a flying projectile. A blur of red arched above his lowered head and imprinted itself on the wall. Prussia's eyes immediately tracked the offender. Denmark had laid down a large crate on the meeting table beside the lumps of coal. The albino immediately wondered how the former viking was able to smuggle a _crate_ into the meeting room until Prussia's red eyes met with a certain Spanish country's own green eyes.

"APRIL FOOLS, YE BITCHES." Denmark proclaimed, holding up a tomato. Mathias immediately launched the tomato at France. Francis paused his argument with England to look at the Dane's direction.

 _Splat!_

The tomato coated the lower half of the Frenchman's head and its innards made its way down past his beard and onto his suit. An over-exaggerated look of horror made its way to France's face. " _Danemark_ , 'ow could you do zis?" He reached his hands into the crate and a tomato was launched back onto the offending Nordic.

"You bloody frog!" Arthur swore as Francis smacked his face with a tomato.

"FOOD FIGHT." America proclaimed whilst holding a slingshot— _how did he smuggle that?_ Prussia thought—in hand. Immediately, a few nations ducked underneath the table and some used their chairs as defence. Alfred had launched numerous tomatoes in an instant, many hitting its respective mark.

" _Pata, pata, pata!_ " Veneziano chanted, waving a white flag. A red stain had notably marred its colour as the Italian was hit by numerous tomatoes.

"Food fights were invented in me, da-ze!" South Korea proclaimed, holding up a largely-sized version of the projectile fruit. He threw the tomato— and its unfortunate victim was Japan, who was attempting to dodge all the fruits aimed at him or those that whizzed by him.

Prussia found himself laughing maniacally, only to be hit in the face by a certain American's launched matter. _These tomatoes sukk_ , Gilbert thought as he wiped the remnants of his face, _they don't smell nor taste anything good_. He concluded the tomatoes were cheaply bought in order to save cash, since they _were_ being used in food fight. _I sound like Basch now_ , the albino realised in horror.

Glancing to his side, Gilbert found his brother doing what he would predictably do— he was attempting to cease the chaos and anarchy among the nations.

"Lighten up, _bruder_!" Slinging his arm around his brother, Prussia would've laughed loudly at Germany's reaction to his formal suit as it was stained by tomato residue, but it was reduced to chuckles. A weight rested itself on Gilbert's chest and he concluded it to be incredulousness. His brother really needed to loosen up—but not too loose meaning to follow what Prussia did, that was a _horrible_ example that is to never be spoken off ever again.

Somehow—do _not_ ask Prussia how—other nations got their hands on slingshots. Ludwig looked pointedly at America, who was oblivious to his glares, before shoving himself and the Prussian underneath the table protectively.

As Gilbert peaked above the table, he spotted the aforementioned American, South Korea, Denmark, and Australia all in a formation that resembled a protective circle around the tomato crate. They sat on the table and shot everyone at sight with their slingshots. Despite the happy atmosphere within the meeting room, Prussia suddenly slumped down under the meeting table. He knew the initiators of the tomato war meant good intentions but—

The weight in his chest was _definitely_ not guilt nor incredulousness.

Something bad was about to happen, he just _knew_ it. Peaking above once more, the albino did his best to not be spotted by the _Quadruple Insane Sling-shooters_ , as he dubbed them. If Prussia didn't cross the line with his prank, he would've been joining the _Quadruple Insane Sling-shooters_ the moment the tomato war was ignited. _Something is off_ , he thought, _the avesome me just feels it_.

He could feel Ludwig shaking him in concern, to which Gilbert only reacted with a small whining noise.

The albino felt _less_ energetic than usual. Prussia could practically feel his inner mood swings beginning to exhaust him, with worry for some damn thing that might just be worry if his favourite pizza shop closed down. _Slov down,_ he told himself, _just akt enthusiastik as usual but more serious like your_ bruder, _vorry about vhatever-this-is this later_.

He was able to witness the last tomato get flung by Denmark— _Splat!_ —and it precisely hit Norway's face, who returned from his long journey to the loo.

An image flashed before Gilbert's eyes and he, for some reason, found himself reminiscing on fond memories of teaching his younger _bruder_ how to hunt. Prussia found himself smiling fondly at the memory.

"Yeah, we rock, dudes!" America high-fived the other members of his 'squad'.

What surprised Gilbert the most was the lack of a distinct scent the tomatoes had for his nose. _Do scentless tomatoes exist now?_ he mentally asked, _I should try asking Spain that_.

As the nations began coming out of their hiding spots, many were glaring at the initiator of the tomato war—Norway especially—for their ruined clothes and slash or faces, or just the havoc caused in general. "Stupid westerners, aru! You should all clean this up— and _you_ too, South Korea!" China barked before glaring at his fellow East Asian nation.

"Uri nara mansae!" Yong Soo announced, "I shall claim your breasts eventually, _donglyo_!"

"Everyone, sit down." Germany sighed in exasperation as he stood up. "Ve kan't do anything about that prank anymore, but you four are to be divided and are to _clean this up_ aftervards." The four nations groaned at the punishment. Assigning the _Quadruple Insane Sling-shooters_ to a new seat far from each other, Ludwig rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Prussia sat down onto his claimed awesome 'throne'—which was actually Germany's previous seat—and waited for the meeting to resume. He glanced down the table as the other nations at found nothing _too_ out of the ordinary. Okay, maybe it _is_ something minor such as his favourite pizzeria closing— _vait, that isn't minor!_ Gilbert inwardly gasped dramatically, _that is a tragedy!_

The albino covered his mouth with a hand lest a snicker escapes due to his absurd yet amusing thoughts.

"If none of you have anymore pranks, let us resume our meeting," Ludwig continued, "If you have a— _Gott_ help us—idea, please raise your hand and you shall be given five minutes to speak and five minutes only."

A hand rose from the opposite end of the table. "I have a proposal, Germany," Belgium called out whilst flickering tomato off her suit.

"Very well, you may speak, Belgium." The German nation sat down on his seat and gave his full attention. Prussia felt the sudden urge to use the loo as Belgium began presenting her project. Glancing at the clock, Gilbert knew a break wasn't to be called for until a few more hours.

"—Fossil Fuels are to be exchanged—" Prussia could not help but tune her out. Gritting his teeth, the albino reached out to his brother. His hand stretched forward, ready to tap the his _bruder_ —

And it went through.

 _Oh holy_ scheiße _,_ Gilbert thought as he stared at his hand in horror, recoiling it immediately and staring at it. For a brief moment, his hands and clothes lacked transparency. He _didn't_ make contact with his brother, and he appeared to not have felt _anything_. Noticing a few nations glancing at him, bemused at his behaviour, the Prussian immediately sat up straight and pretended to ignore them as if nothing happened.

 _Okay, relax, you're avesome. You're not dying_ , Prussia attempted to reassure himself.

Attempted.

No _fucking_ way could his body relax.

The futile mantra did nothing to help as a bubbling feeling rose to the albino's chest. He gripped the edge of the meeting table as he felt a hard kick to his chest. "V-Vest... _Deu... Deutschland_... Germany!" His _bruder_ 's head whipped to his direction, concern evident in his face.

Gilbert never calls Ludwig by his country name unless it's a _grave_ situation.

" _Preußen_? _Bruder!_ " The militaristic nation had panic on his face as he slammed his palms on the meeting table and stood up abruptly.

Prussia was able to catch a glimpse of the face of his fellow nations. Some were at panic mode once again and others were glaring at him. _I'm not playing anymore_ , he wanted to say, _this is not a prank!_ Nothing but incoherence escaped his throat as he attempted to stand up. Pain shot through his legs and he tipped over onto the familiar texture of the wooden meeting table.

"We aren't falling for zhat again." Hungary snorted.

 _I'm not pretending anymore!_ Prussia thought desperately as he curled up into a foetal position, _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—so damn—sorry_. His left hand gripped at his chest, at the area above his heart. A loud tympani beat rang through his ears, the beating of his heart. Gilbert gripped his hair as the pain in his chest began to fluctuate.

"You're being overdramatik," Austria commented.

Images of the Seven Years War flashed through the Prussian's eyes. _This kan't be happening— not yet! I still have Vest to live for!_ Was he seeing his life pass his eyes already? Impossible, just—

A high pitched and bloodcurdling scream resonated through the meeting room. Tears streamed down Prussia's face as he attempted to sit up. His throat sore, Gilbert realised that it was _his_ scream. A belching sensation bubbled in his throat and he attempted to swallow it but—

Out came his blood.

 _"...I declare_ Königreich Preußen _as officially dissolved..."_ The painful memory passed his eyes.

 _Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it—_ A wave of nausea engulfed him. It was then did a new batch of fresh blood and stomach acid exit his mouth. The strain on his throat _hurt_. When he attempted to speak, only blood escapes his lips. The murky red liquid burnt his tongue, but try as he must, no flavour was detected.

He was losing his senses.

 _"...Berlin Wall construction... Berlin Wall construction..."_ the voice in his head chanted.

"I'm sorry," he wanted to say, he wanted to scream to everyone— but only the morbid melody of wheezing was produced. There was such a heavy pressure in and on his chest that it made a simple action such as breathing difficult. His breaths came in irregular patterns, all seemingly toxic to his body.

 _Please—_

Then, as if something inside of him snapped, he pounded his fist on the meeting table. _I feel as if I'm slipping, slipping from reality_ , Prussia thought. His body fell into spasms of twitching. The albino flailed his limbs, as if attempting to grasp something, _anything._ He involuntarily twisted and turned in all directions.

— _tell me—_

"Forgive us! Don't die now! Gilbert, hang on!" Elizabeta pinned down one of his frantic arms. "I did such a mistake! Don't... die..." She bowed her head, and droplets of tears fell on to Prussia's arm. _Frying pan bitch_ , Gilbert thought, _I'm sorry_. He's never going to argue with her ever again, he's never going to tease her ever again, he's never going to fight with her ever again.

 _"No! We should not dissolve Prussia! The hero won't allow it!"_ The bittersweet image of his best friend defending him passed Prussia's mind.

— _I am—_

Two strong hands gripped one of his legs and stopped it from twitching wildly. "I 'ate you for your prank earlier and wis' to post all your blackmail on social media, but just say zis is anot'er prank! Please! _S'il vous plaît_!" Francis begged. No words were heard from Antonio, who was crying silently with a hand covering his mouth. _My friends, we_ were _the Bad Touch Trio... So are_ they _now a duo?_ the dying nation reflected sadly. Gags are to no longer happen together, chaos is to no longer be ignited together, it's just the two of them left now.

— _not—_

"Drinking buddy, don't you dare die!" Denmark held down the other flying leg of Gilbert. "I, the b-benevolent King of Scandinavia, do not per-permit you to die, peasant...! Please..." His old vigour had been replaced with such a forlorn attitude that Prussia barely recognised him. No more pranks together, no more drinking games together— all _gone_.

— _undone._

" _Bruder_!" No other words needed to be said as Ludwig held down Prussia's other arm. _My_ bruder, Prussia felt more tears stream down his own face, _my almost-as-avesome-as-me_ bruder _who I raised_. Burying his fingers into his brother's arm, he tapped with unsteady fingers. He's proud of how powerful his _bruder_ had gotten, perhaps Gilbert does have a legacy. Even if he can't hang out with him anymore, have hangovers with him anymore, share the wurst sandwiches anymore— _I'm sorry,_ mein bruder, he tapped.

"It's okay, _bruder_ _Preußen_ , ve are goi... solu... you..." _No_ , Prussia thought in horror.

 _Of all senses for fate to rob from me,_ tears continuously dripped down his face. The noise and havoc around him were beginning to fade, sounds and vibrations refracted away from his ears. All were fading as if some almighty being clicked a mute button on the nations.

At least the last sound he heard was the voice of his brother.

 _This_ —

A hoarse cough escaped Gilbert's lips. He wants to see his family's face lest he dies at any moment. His friends, his family, and his _goddamn_ brother. His hazy red eyes moved around the room, light temporarily blinding him. Prussia had covered his ears by instinct, drowning in sorrow at the loss of another one of his senses.

"I'm avesome," he lip synchronised, blood dripping down his lips.

— _is not_ —

"Yes, you're awesome, _mein bruder_ ," Germany tapped on his arm. The albino tilted his head and met his brother's teary blue orbs with his own red ones, he smiled at the younger nation.

All around him, the Prussian did a slow observation of each nation's face. Some were crying and were hiding their faces, others were staring with blank and emotionless expressions, and the remaining bunch isolated themselves from those surrounding Prussia, choosing to give respect to those mourning and truly close to the dying ex-nation. _I'm happy to know they kare_ , Gilbert smiled in wavering melancholy, _even if they show it just for a little while._

— _my kingdom_ —

He let out a silent gasp as he removed his hands from his ears and felt a small bird pecking against his the back of his hand. _Gilbird_. A wave of nostalgia hit him. He had not recalled of the small babe bird until it made itself noticed. Is his 'awesome' army of Gilbirds going to just... die? Following the notion of a nation's pet (or pets) dying when its owner does, the poor chicks was probably going to rot away once he himself does. _Vithout any sign or varning_ , he thought sadly.

The small Gilbird had waddled its way to Prussia's face and, as if sensing its owners sorrow, it rubbed its yellow fur on the albino's cheek. _My kompanion_ , Gilbert continued to cry, _my friends, my family. I have so much that giving them all up just makes me lose vhat makes the avesome me, me_. He cupped the small bird.

— _come_.

 _"If you ever dare to drag-a my_ idiota fratello _into your pranks again, you Bad-a Touch Bastards, I ought-a unleash a shit storm of tomatoes on you all—"_ The vision of an angry Italy Romano passed.

The albino felt his brother squeeze his other hand, as if reassuring he was still alive. _Just maybe, just maybe there is still hope for me_ , the futile thought taunted him, _at least I von't die alone. I shall die avesomely_.

 _Do not_ —

A sharp pain pulsed through his glabella. The patch of skin between his eyebrows was throbbing and—

Gasping for air, the Prussian yanked his arms and shielded his face. _Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!_ It was as if someone was attempting to gouge his eyes out with a _spoon_. His legs kicked and slammed themselves on the meeting table. _I'm sorry, dear_ Gott _, for the prank earlier!_ He resisted the concerned nations attempting to wrench his arms away, _stay back, please! I don't vant anyone else hurt!_

— _bring me_ —

 _"I am a Prussian, know ye of my colours?"_ Gilbert had once sang proudly. He winced at the memory, enclosing his face from the public's eye with his hands even more.

What people are there for him to be proud of? What nation is there for him to represent? Why bother continue living if he is nothing more than a memory? The memory of something only to be remembered in history books? Is he just meant to represent all the empires, kingdoms, countries, and every other community that has fallen? Prussia squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to stop his tears.

— _to the_ —

" _Bruder_ , open your eyes, please..." Ludwig had tapped on Gilbert's side. The albino was painfully and unintentionally being oblivious to the pained tone he used. _No! I can't shov them!_ Prussia internally screamed, _i-if you see them_...

"Please, just show a sign," the tapping paused momentarily and the Prussian's breath hitched, "do not try dying alone, _bruder_ , _please_." He could _feel_ the desperation in the hard and rhythmic pokes. But... but... he can't bear staring if everything has begun to look the same. He can't bear staring at something he can't appreciate.

— _test_ —

After all, not all darkness house a light.

Prussia attempted to picture his brother and his friends' faces. But, alas, those images began to blur. As if he awoke from a dream, he felt the faces he had and created memories with disappear— just out of his grasp, but dangling provocatively at him. It was _tantalising_.

He pushed himself to focus, recall, _remember_ the nations, even those he wasn't close with's, faces.

 _Does this nation have red hair?_ A face passed his mind. _Who was that purple-eyed nation called?_ And another. _Which one of them wore a scarf?_ And another. _What colour did he dare Spain to dye his hair in to, again?_ One more. _Why did what's-her-face cut her hair?_ And so many more that they caught the albino off guard.

So many faces, yet Prussia treasured them all.

Even if he can't see them anymore. Not now, not ever.

His sore lips wobbled as he felt his _bruder_ tap him desperately. "Open your eyes, punish me with a hundred pushups, prank me with dump green slime, anything!" _I'm sorry, I can't, I can't face you like this, you'll hate me_ —

— _but deliver_ —

"I love you, _mein bruder_." The small vibrations broke off the Prussian's internal monologue. A fresh batch of tears swelled up in his covered eyes. Slowly, whilst shaking, he dropped his right hand and lifted his left in the direction of the soft jabs. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ , he mentally repeated as he clasped onto the muscled arm of his brother and poked his reply.

"I l... love you too, West." How he missed the way he struggled to say his signature word, how he missed being mocked and teased for his accent, how he missed the strict and stoic accent forcing its way out of his tongue, how he missed calling his younger brother the American terminology equivalent of a waistcoat; how he hated how only in his thoughts shall the accent be heard ever again for him. _He can't go back to those times anymore_.

He can't even deny the thin, silky milk-coloured sheet that coated his eyes.

The arm he grasped was jerked away and Prussia felt himself sit up to face the person press charged. Rough, strong fingers gripped his chin, tilting his head up and proving another lost sense of his as factual. At least he got to see the face of his brother, the faces of his friends, and the face of Gilbird before his... _curtain call_.

— _me_ —

 _"Hey, Vest— call me avesome!"_ He had repeatedly teased Germany; and granted was his request, _always_.

Bringing up his left hand, he felt around the buff outline of the _bruder_ he loved so much. He found Germany's sleek, smooth blond hair and ruffled it one last time. _Just like before_. The Prussian's hand dropped to the German's left shoulder and squeezed it. _I'm still here, I'm still here, I'm still here_ , he inwardly reassured.

The albino needed more time. Good _Gott_ , even if it was just another day! He didn't just want to leave! He'll accept it if he has to sacrifice his voice and majority of his five senses! He felt another hand take his own right one, and his brother was tapping another Morse Code message, and Prussia couldn't help but release more tears. Germany, Hungary, Austria, France, Spain, Romano, Denmark, America, England, Switzerland, Cuba, Japan, and so many more. _This is the family I have to leave behind_.

 _But I don't vant to go, I don't vant to go. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Forgive me, forgive me. I failed you all_. Breathing heavily, he attempted to pacify his mismatched breathing and rapid crying. _I can't, I can't, I can't. It's my judgement time. The hour of my death._

" _Bruder_ ," Ludwig tapped his palm rapidly, "thank you for everything. My awesome brother, I love y—"

— _from evil_.

Then, Prussia—Gilbert Beilschmidt's—heartbeat stopped.

 _Amen._

Line Break

Italy Veneziano heard a loud cry resonate through the room as the Prussian's limbs dropped down, soulless and lifeless. For the first time in _decades_ , Germany publicly broke down. He embraced the body and clutched it mercilessly as if it was his lifeline. "No, he isn't dead. This is just a sekond part to his prank! Right? Right! He's okay! He's sleeping! He's tired and vill vake up to laugh at our faces and reaktions!" He wailed.

It broke the Italian's heart to see his best friend like this. The hysteria in his voice was so... _foreign_. It had been very scarce for any nation to hear such a different tone in the stoic nation's voice. Through all the hardships and wars, _this_ is what breaks Ludwig. It may even be too much to bear for him.

Gently, a few nations prised him off the corpse. Feliciano gasped in surprise when the weeping Germany latched onto him. As nations, they should've been used to the deaths of humans. But his brother was a nation.

 _Was_.

"Ludwig..." Veneziano whispered as he hugged his best friend tightly. The artistic nation felt strong arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. Many nations bowed their heads in mourning whilst Feliciano pulled Ludwig away from his brother's corpse as far as he could. The militaristic nations required support _now_ more than _ever_. "We'll give-a proper burial, for him-a, yes? Ve! And for-a Gilbird too—"

Suddenly, he was cut off by a familiar voice: _China's_. "Just shut up already, _Meiguó_!" He winced slightly at the harsh malice laced with those words. He knew who those words were for: Veneziano's fellow atmosphere-hunting partner, _Alfred F. Jones_.

"Can you not do anything _right_ , aru? All you can really do is eat like a fat pig and laze around without a care for the world! Have you already forgotten about your debt?" America flinched at Yao's harsh reminder, "do us all a nice favour and stop _bullshitting_ all of us with your 'hero this' and 'hero that'! Why don't you go take a stroll in your grease-infested dreamworld and fall in a deep hole and die in hell! _Qù nǐde_!"

China huffed at a loose strand of hair off his face. "You _fèi wù_ , useless excuse for a nation, aru!"

"H-he was my best friend—" Alfred weakly attempted. That only served to provoke the Chinese man even more. He glared angrily at the American as the said nation stepped towards him. America attempted to raise his hands in surrender, trying his best to pacify the angered dark haired nation.

"You were probably just pretending to be his friend you _freeloader_!" The American tried to take a step forward. "Don't you dare come near me!" Alfred froze as he was told when China pointed an object at him.

Gasps rang around as the shocked nations all stared at the object he brandished. He had whipped out a _357 Revolver_ and was pointing it at America. "Leave!" Yao barked at him; before he turned to the bystanders and waved his gun. "Stay out of this!" Many recoiled at once as they caught the glint in his eyes.

Shivers ran down Feliciano's spine as those very orbs scanned his face, studying, calculating, _dismantling_ him. Those brown eyes held _cruelty_ , they held such _stress_ that could only be caused by drastic _suppression_.

He was _serious_.

" _Chugoku-san_ , prease r-rower your gun," Japan pleaded.

"No, I will not listen to you! I called you a brother and all you do is _oppose_ me, aru! I'm sick and tired of you nations freeloading me as if it were _nothing_!" _Bang!_ A gunshot rang throughout the meeting room. Silence followed it soon after; broken only by the sound of China's heavy breathing. His right arm was pointing the gun in an upward manner, arched in the direction of the ceiling. _A warning shot_.

"Do not get any closer—!"

"H-hit the dirt, cobbers!" Australia yelled whilst pointing up the ceiling. At his word, nations immediately scurried away to defend themselves and Veneziano protectively shielded Ludwig. He slowly lifted his head to where Jett was pointing at.

 _The chandelier cord was threatening to snap_.

China's bullet had pierced through a few bulbs and nearly cut the cord keeping the chandelier dangling. It rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...

"Vait, vhat about—!" Germany's voice faded within the havoc as the cord went _snap!_ Ludwig had been looking behind him, horror etched onto his face. Nations all around screamed as the chandelier came down. _No_ , Feliciano thought in utter dismay as the contraption had landed on the table—

Right onto Prussia's corpse.

" _PREUßEN_." The German nation thrashed in Veneziano's arms. He shoved Feliciano back and attempted to go to the soulless Gilbert's body.

" _Germania_ , no!" _I can't-a lose you either_.

Sparks flew as the chandelier arched down and made contact with the fossil fuels and empty wooden crate. "Where's the damn fire extinguisher?" England screamed as the defective bulbs began sparking. Ludwig was met with a sudden wall of fire and he stumbled back in surprise.

The hot flames grew as it fuelled itself on the flammable objects surrounding it, _including the meeting table_. The raging flames devoured the fossil fuels _and_ the corpse as if they were nothing more than small strips of paper. Some nations could only watch in shock with horror-filled looks as they attempted to process the events.

Veneziano's head hurt. His (rarely opened) eyes had dilated in shock and it felt as if all the blood left his face. He couldn't move, he couldn't think, he couldn't _breathe_. His heart was pounding so fast it felt as if it was going to just jump out—

"Friends! Please snap out of it! We have to evacuate, okay? For some reason, the sprinklers aren't working and there aren't any working fire extinguishers!"

Finland's voice had snapped most of the nations out of their trances. The doors to the meeting room were swung open by those sitting near it. Some weak-hearted nations had to be carried out as all of them began to leave the building. "Hurry and do not panic! Someone, call 119!" America ordered as he helped usher the nations out.

Feliciano did not miss the venomous look China gave him as he left.

 _I want-a to leave too!_ he initially thought. He wanted to curl up into a ball and wave his white flag. His instincts _screamed_ at him to leave and escape with his fellow immortals. He wanted to follow but he had to make sure everyone was safe.

" _Germania_ , Germany!" he wailed, pushing his way through the wave of escaping nations. He had ripped himself away from shock only to find his best friend rushing into the flames. Oh God, he can't lose anyone else! Even if they, the nations, are immortal, Veneziano wasn't taking any chances. _What is-a Ludwig doing?_ he thought desperately, _just don't die, please!_

Scrambling to follow the disappearing silhouette, he blocked out the screams of the Nordics and a few others.

The fire had already consumed most of the back part of the room, slowly burning its path towards the doors. Feliciano coughed, dropping down lower to not inhale anymore smoke. Squatting down, he took out his wet, tomato-splattered, and not-so-white flag and covered his mouth and nose. He cringed slightly at the taste and smell. The flames combusted the presentation panel and the powerpoint projector too was consumed by the raging matter.

Red, black, and yellow was all Veneziano could see. Had he done a full circle? Had Germany left already whilst he was searching for him? _Was he dead?_ The last one sent his skin into gooseflesh ('Goosebumps,' as America called them). He wanted to turn back and cower in a corner, he wanted to run away like he always does in danger.

But he won't have anyone to run to anymore.

" _GERMANIA_ , GERMANY, _DEUTSCHLAND_ ," he called desperately. He squeaked when he nearly tripped on the wires on the floor. He can't be useless anymore! Feliciano mentally slapped himself, _pull yourself-a together!_ With newfound determination, he smiled in relief as his brown eyes caught a familiar broad outline.

But the smile was quickly wiped from his covered lips at what he saw. The Italian realised he reached the opposite end of the room as Ludwig was sitting in the corner and— _that is not-a tomato sauce_ , Veneziano began praying that his best friend was okay, that he isn't going to disappear like his look-a-like from—

His train of thought was cut off by the sudden roaring of fire. Behind him, incoherent screams were sounding as the fire spread. _No turning back now_. Shifting into a crawling position, the representative of North Italy began inching his way towards his friend, continuing to cover his mouth with the piece of cloth.

His friend was in a foetal position with his back towards the wall, he was clutching something; but Feliciano can't tell what it is. He was breathing, as shown by his rising and sinking shoulders. His head was bowed down and messy hair was sweaty and hanging loosely, overshadowing his eyes.

"Ludwig!" Veneziano softly tapped the nation. "We have-a to evacuate!"

No response.

Then, that was when he saw what Germany was cupping with his fingers.

A rosary and the dead corpse of _Gilbird_.

"He's not dead, he's not dead. I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming. Vhen I die in this dream, I vill vake up to him poking me or pouring a bukket of slime on my head," the militaristic nation rocked back and forth, muttering, "his korpse is not on fire and is turning into ashes nor is he dead. _Mein bruder_ is not dead..."

The Italian's back _burnt_ from the heat. Beads of sweat had began pilling up on his damp suit's backside.

"Ludwig, please. We have-a to evacuate."

" _Mein bruder_ is not dead. I'm also dreaming of you, aren't I, Feli? You're part of my messed up dream."

"Ludwig!" Feliciano cried as he grasped the right shoulder of the German, "we have-a to go! I know you want-a to mourn, but he will-a not like it if you-a died or got maimed here!" _Just please-a go with it! You have so much to live-a for!_

He finally got a response. "I— you're right..." Ludwig lifted his head, revealing his tear-stained face, "I h-have to live for _mein bruder_! H-he vants me to live a good life!" He tucked the dead bird and the rosary in his breast pocket.

"Ve! But it would be-a great if we leave-a now, yes?" With all his might, he ripped the cloth in half. He handed one side to the Germanic nation, who smiled in appreciation. "The fire is-a spreading, so we have to-a crawl fast!" _Ludwig must be-a proud! I'm learning how to take-a care of myself! But... is he not handling this-a little too well?_

"A-alright..."

With all the luck and prayers, the duo had successfully crawled their way through the antagonising funnel within the burning room. The fire was just a _hairsbreadth_ away from touching the (good grief) _wooden_ doors, but they opened inwards and if they open them...

They'd have to run.

"On the kount of three, ready?" Veneziano slowly nodded. " _Eins_ , _zwei_ , _drei_!" Germany pulled the door with all his might, fanning the flames due to the wind pressure. Immediately, the two broke off into a sprint— relying purely on their adrenaline rushes. The Italian, now partially relieved, let his eyes close— relying once again on his echolocation.

Behind them, the fires continued to rage on. The corpse of the once-great personification named Gilbert Beilschmidt had been diminished into ashes. As the fire raged on, it left nothing but destruction as it began spreading beyond the meeting room. Its hot tendrils were threateningly close to the buildings beside it and—

The ceiling caved in.

 **FOOTNOTES**

 **"Paging me for a migraine..." Wordplay time! It's a pun for** _ **Beijing**_ **, the capital of China. I'll leave the rest to your imagination, hah.**

 **PRUSSIA'S DISSOLVING: It is stated in the KitaWiki that Prussia represented the Teutonic Knights, the Kingdom of Prussia, and East Germany. Majority of the authoresses agreed to not make him represent anything else besides the aforementioned (the Eastern regions of Deutschland). Meaning: He was just a personification of nothing who stubbornly refused to die. Ja, East Germany dissolved in 1990 (or 'unified' with West Germany).**

 **"France was clutching a rabbit foot...": In France, it is a superstition that holding a rabbit foot or keeping one in your pocket is good luck. Ahhh,** _ **je suis désolé**_ **, Francis, it had to be done.**

 **"...the small bird and his kin too would die after their owner..." It's a headcanon we authoresses have which state that a nation's pet (or** _ **pets**_ **in Prussia's case) are immortal unless the personification dies.**

 **"Out of the grey..." Ah, the magic of wordplay. There is a German saying known as 'alles grau in grau malen' meaning 'to paint everything grey with grey'. It's a figure of speech meaning** _ **pessimism**_ **.**

 **""** _ **Pata, pata, pata!"**_ **Veneziano chanted..." Pata is Japanese onomatopoeia for 'wave'. In the anime, Veni-chan chants that every time he waves his flag.**

 **"Ducking back underneath..." And we are** _ **Bach**_ **to the puns! /dodges brick/**

 **"Please—tell me—I am—not—undone. This—is not—my kingdom—come. Do not—bring me—to the—test—but deliver—me—from evil. Amen." The Teutonic Knights were, ahem, Roman Catholic... so I made our dear Preußen pray one last prayer.**

 **"...share the wurst sandwiches anymore.." Homophone,** _ **wurst**_ **and** _ **worst.**_ **BA DUM TSS— /hit in face by brick/**

 **"** _ **The hour of my death**_ **." A reference to the** _ **Hail Mary**_ **prayer.**

 **"...relying once again on his echolocation." Ladies and gentlemen, Italy Veneziano cannonly says 'Ve~!' and other verbal ticks as echolocation since he has his eyes closed all the time.**


	3. Send Him Victorious

Chapter 2: Send Him Victorious

" _Send him victorious,_

 _Happy and glorious,_

 _Long to reign over us:_

 _God save the King!_ "

-Lyrics from _God Save the King_ (alternatively titled as _God Save the Queen_ )

Germany felt empty.

He felt as if nothing was worth it in the world anymore. Everything was just so... _monochrome_ now. He felt so numb, he felt so empty, he felt so _incomplete_. His _bruder's_ death felt like someone had ran a cold blade down his chest and just stabbed it in his heart to rot. His own heart was beating at a sonic rate and it blared his own eardrums. He can barely differentiate what is black from white as they all turn into a murky grey.

As he and the other nations watched the burning buildings from afar (along the somewhat vain attempts of the firemen to extinguish the flames), Ludwig found himself walking away from the cluster of nations.

He mechanically pushed his way through a cluster of trees and found a plain for him to recollect his thoughts. Shielding himself behind a large monument, he leaned on the marble pedestal. The European breathed heavily, feeling tiredness wash over him. Try as he must, he can no longer produce tears; they've all dried up in midst of his mourning. Sliding down to sit on the grass, he hugged himself whilst attempting to ease his unstable breathing.

 _Relax, try to remember vhat has happened so far_ , he thought to himself, _rekall vhat brought you here_.

The rhythm of his own thumping heart was echoing through his head. Slowly, his in-shock mind began to leave its period of hysteria. Images of the flames raged his mind, and his corpse and—

Nausea soared through his body, and a burning sensation fixated itself in his throat. _It happened so fast, too fast_ , he thought forlornly, feeling his chest ache in longing. Ludwig gently touched his messy hair, recalling how his brother ruffled it for one final time. Burying his face onto his folded knees, he sniffled. Nations don't die, but his _bruder_ isn't a nation anymore.

How many times has the names he represented dissolved?

The Order of the Teutonic Knights, the Kingdom of Prussia, and so much more. But why didn't he die sooner? _Bekause he always found something to represent after a dissolution_ , a voice nagged Germany. _That isn't true, that isn't true, that isn't true_ —

"West."

 _Oh_ mein Gott _, I'm going insane_ , he thought, _I kan even hear his voice kalling me_. He hugged his knees, curling into a foetal position.

"West, notice me."

Wincing slightly, Ludwig did, in fact, notice the lack of German accent that tainted Gilbert's voice. His mind was playing tricks on him, his mind was accepting that his _bruder_ was _dead_. He was supposed to be happy, right? He was accepting the _death_ of someone so close to him, or he was going insane, or _both_. The latter options did not appear to please the German and—

"West, if you continue moping, I swear, you'll never live up to my _awesomeness_."

 _He said it! He said it! He said his signature vord... vithout... his accent..._ Germany internally screamed, an internal war waging within him. Perhaps, the Prussian was sent to drag him into the farthest depths of hell (whether to drop him off or join him was unknown to Ludwig) or was an angel sent to cleanse his soul from guilt.

Perhaps he was given one last chance to speak with his brother.

Slowly tilting his head, Ludwig's slightly bloodshot blue eyes made its way to meet familiar _red_ ones. _No... it kan't be_ , he thought hopefully, _but is he really—?_

A sincere smile plastering his face, Gilbert had a serene and peaceful expression. "West, it's me." The German words stoically rolled off his tongue. Nostalgia hit the blond nation like a truck and all he could do was stare at the spirit of his brother. His back ached to stretch and retain its former formality, but move in place was Germany all but able to do. The Prussian was still wearing his clothes from the meeting, with his hoodie and other multiple layers of clothing remaining untouched... _unburnt_.

" _Her_ —pardon me— _Bruder_ , whatever happens, happens." Was he about to call Ludwig the German honorary of _Herr_? Prussia paused, as if processing his words. Ludwig hugged his knees closer at the sight of catching his _bruder's_ subtle shaking.

"I— _we_ —can't do anything about... anything that happens." The albino shook his head.

"My destiny has already been written, even if I don't know what will happen to me," he continued, "I'm sure you're destined to represent a great nation; so don't let yourself fall like the _unawesome_ empires behind you." Prussia tucked his hands within his pockets, the wind prompting his loose clothing to billow. "I was too awesome for life, it seems." His eyelids fluttered close.

"West, I know you're going to be one of the most affected by my death," _No denying that,_ bruder, Germany thought in a bittersweet manner, "but... just smile, okay?"

"You know, I'm almost always smiling," the reminder made the blond's stomach sink in longing, "I smile because _you're_ my brother. I laugh because you can't do anything about it." Gilbert spread his arms wide and faced the sky.

"I'll be here, okay, West? No matter what," he said whilst spinning around, "treasure the people around you, _mein_ _awesome-but-not-as-awesome-as-me bruder_. You'll lose some of them, gain some more, and get betrayed; but, in the end, its worth it." He paused his mock-pirouetting to open his eyes and gaze at Ludwig. "I'm proud of you, you know?"

"A storm is on its way," Prussia stated as he lowered his arms, "so you have to be strong, West."

The albino used his left hand to gesture at his body. "This awesome and sexy beast here doesn't have much time to stay." As if on cue, his body flickered in the light; appearing to have been all but there for a fracture of a second. "I died in such an _unawesome_ way, I know. Take care of the Gilbird Army's corpses for me, will ya?" A small chick poked its head out of the Prussian's hair. The small body and rosary within Germany's breast pocket felt heavier against his clothes.

It chirped in a seemingly-approving manner. "See? Gilbird agrees with me." The owner shrugged.

"You were brave at the fire, West. Don't dwell— _oh, an awesome-but-not-as-awesome-as-me word_!—too much on my _death_. It was inevitable for me." Prussia held his left hand our towards the blond, beckoning him. " _Ich liebe dich_ , West. I love you." He flashed Ludwig a gentle smile, his image flickering once again.

Reaching out, the blond's shaking left hand stretched towards the Prussian's. And as his fingers were close to making contact—

His hand went through.

By instinct, Germany recoiled his hand. He could only watch in shock as his _bruder_ began turning translucent, his whole being dissipating into mist. Gilbert retained eye contact and the genuine smile on his face. Soon, a flash of light temporarily blinded Ludwig as his _bruder_ disappeared; returning back to the afterlife. He shielded his eyes as, in silence, the light began fading.

"Kesesesesesesese..." The words were let out as the albino claimed his last laugh. Then, silence began overtaking the atmosphere once again.

And, so, his _bruder_ was gone once again.

" _Ich liebe dich auch_ , _mein bruder_ ," he murmured. The feeling of loneliness appeared to have been pacified by his _bruder's_ visit. He lowered his aching arm, defeat consuming him. The spirit of his brother moved on, he should too... _right_? His brother got his 'inner peace'. His brother held no hatred for the very person who _burnt_ his corpse, and the other people who _despised_ him.

 _His_ bruder _..._

The blond gripped his left wrist, curling his hand into a ball.

... _told him to move on._

Germany blinked rapidly, feeling like a snail exiting its shell. _Move on, move on_ , a voice chanted in his head, _for your_ bruder _, for your_ bruder. Slowly, a newfound vigour began rising within him. The pounding of his heart beat through his ears in rhythmic motions. He couldn't give up _now_.

 _Honour the dead_ , Ludwig was taught.

It only sprinkled dirt onto his _bruder's_ figurative grave if he were to turn into... a _mindless_ and _robotic_ nation. _He_ represents what Gilbert used to. The moment was cinematic, one may say.

Germany is a _nation_. He and his kin do not follow the normal life span of humans despite sharing their traits. Post-death shock and grief do not heave a heavy weight to them as it would to a human. They were supposed to be _used_ to it. Many have nations and empires fallen, died, and faded from existence to remain only in History books and _Wikipedia_ articles, their territories split along with their variety of people and diverse culture; all passed down from nation to nation.

Using his hands as support, he pushed himself up into a standing position.

The blond's posture wavered slightly as exhaustion was felt through his wobbly legs. His body began to relax from his previous and uncomfortable _hook sitting_ position. The suit he was wearing felt slightly looser from the strain. As a force of habit, he dusted his suit and the dirt that tainted his pants before touching his _Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross_ whilst forming a plan.

 _I should meet up with my fellov nations_ , he decided, _and talk to_ China _and pray that vhat he did does not reflekt harshly on his vhole nation and_ Amerika—

"China! Are you _sure_ you're alright, dude?"

The boisterous voice of the aforementioned nation prompted Germany to press himself against the statue pedestal, feeling cautious. If China shot the _only_ world superpower...

Only _war_ could follow.

Whatever the personifications did to each other mostly reflected on their people. Or, to put it in a more factual manner, what _their_ people did always reflected what _they_ did. No matter how uncanny, their freedom would be dropped behind obliging with their bosses' orders and majority of their people.

And there is _nothing_ they could do about it.

Peaking slightly from behind the monument, Ludwig fiddled with his _Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross_ whilst putting up his serious façade. With his free hand, he reached into his suit and pulled out his _HK45_ and clicked off the safety. He held the gun in an anticipative position with its muzzle facing towards the ground.

"...cool, right? Yao—I'll call you that, m'kay?—I suggest you apologise to the others for, well, _that_." He watched Alfred gesture in the direction of the burning buildings and the growing fire. "They won't get you off the hook easily, I'm sure; but, hey, it's better than them raging w— _fights_ , right?" America let out his signature carefree laugh. Germany stiffened when he noted his avoidance of the word 'war'.

Was he, too, nervous of a war brewing ahead?

 _"A storm is on its way, so you have to be strong, West."_ The European felt his throat hitch when realisation washed through him. His _bruder_ proba— _definitely_ knew a war was looming above them. Had Yao's act of accidentally setting his own capital on fire and his warning shot directed towards the only _Gott-verdammt_ superpower reflected the ignition of war by his people?

A failed invasion? Or a foiled conspiracy to send nuclear warheads the opposing country? Perhaps it was an attempt to assassinate the President— _Stop those pessimistik thoughts at once!_ Ludwig mentally berated himself, _this is just a misunderstanding_.

"I guess I agree, _Alfred_." Warning bells shot through the eavesdropping German's ears. He detected the hidden malice laced beneath those spoken words; and the Chinese nation typically called the superpower by either his Chinese or English name.

He dropped the human name basis years prior.

"The Hero saves once again with his awesome advice!" America spun around so his back was facing towards the Asian as he pointed to the sky. "The sky is the limit! Well, unless you're a member of NASA or something; then, there is no limit!" He ecstatically proclaimed at the sky.

From Ludwig's view, he caught Yao's silent and humourless chuckle. The dark-haired man slipped his hand through a hidden pocket in his suit. China brandished a sleek object, its body glinting brightly within the light of day.

The same gun that triggered the whole flaming ordeal.

Germany's eyes widened in horror as the safety was removed from the firearm. Yao, not one to waste time, aimed the gun towards the American's heart. _I kan't let this happen!_ Ludwig instinctively burst forward from his hiding spot, his gun aimed at the Chinese man. _I'm too far_ , the German thought in horror.

"Alfred! Vatch out!" He called out.

"Stay out of this, aru!" China snapped.

It happened in slow motion in the European's eyes. It all happened in a flash when his finger pushed against the trigger of his own German-made gun. He couldn't let America— _Alfred_ —get injured. The said American turned around at his direction, his eyes widening in surprise. Adrenaline combusted through Ludwig's veins whilst he watched his pistol recoil at his shot.

 _Bang!_

The shot that rang around the world.

Line Break

Many have deduced America to overly-trusting and extremely (and blissfully) oblivious to the world. Sure, he couldn't, and, at times, doesn't want to, read the atmosphere, but he did have his moments. He won the _Cold War_ against the _Union of Soviet Socialist Republics_ , for crying out loud!

He _knew_ Yao had brought his gun with him. He _knew_ the Chinese man had intended to shoot him. He _knew_ the dangerous thin ice he's caught himself in by agreeing to 'take a walk' with China.

Alfred wasn't stupid enough to go _anywhere_ without a weapon; especially with the risk of assassinations and due to his title of being the personification of the United States of America. His _Desert Eagle 50 Caliber Pistol_ was tucked in the waistband of his pants (partially hidden underneath his bomber jacket) along with a few small _PM9's_ concealed in multiple areas around his clothing. Despite the discomfort the firearms provided him, nothing could overthrow the paranoia of his Boss and the Secret Service.

"I guess I agree, _Alfred_."

He bit his lip in anticipation, the dark-haired man was sure to shoot him soon. Perhaps the fire in Beijing reflected a failed attempt to send warning to his country?

Whatever _did_ happen, he couldn't let it grow any worse.

"The Hero saves once again with his awesome advice!" Turning about, Alfred raised his index finger towards the sky. "The sky is the limit! Well, unless you're a member of NASA or something; then, there is no limit!" _I'm open, any time now. Perhaps if I deflect his attack, I could get him to listen_ , he thought.

In the future, some nations might ask him: " _Why did you follow China in the first place?_ "

The blond knew that Yao had pent-up frustration towards him. If he declined the dark-haired man's offer, other nations may get roped up into the war the superpower _knew_ that was coming. After all, it was a poor example and hero of him to allow others to get burdened due to vented tensions between him and the Asian.

Any moment now, he would hear a gun shot that was aimed, most likely, towards his heart. The American held his breath, bracing himself to side-step a (possible) onslaught of bullets—

"Alfred! Vatch out!"

"Stay out of this, aru!"

 _Germany?_ he thought incredulously. Instinctively, his head spun in that direction. _No_ , he thought in horror, _he shouldn't be here! Please, leave—!_

 _Bang!_

America's eyes widened as a bullet was shot straight out of Ludwig's gun. The German's reaction time was flawless; as Yao was a second too late, his revolver was knocked out off his hands and flung towards the ground. Shock registered itself on the Asian's face. A scowl immediately replaced it as, in a flash, a second gun was whipped out. Germany protectively stood in front of the American with his firearm aimed at China.

"Some _hero_ you are," the dark-haired man mocked before his lips curled into a sneer. "You even need to ask for help from others, aru. Could you even call yourself a _superpower_?"

" _China_ —" Ludwig tried before he was cut off by the angered and furious Asian.

"Stay out of this, I said!" Yao hissed before fixating his eyes on the silent Alfred. "Where is your debt, aru?" _Debt_. The word struck the blond like lightning as he winced. _Another reminder of the American's incompetency._

The blond tensed up. "I'm still in the process of repaying it—"

"I know _that_ , aru! Your previous allies have debt to you, do they not? The United Kingdom and France! Your economy is good! My people are dying because of _you_!" _Lies_ , America wanted to tell himself, _those are just lies. I'm a hero, I'm a hero, I'm a hero_. The string of thoughts began turning into mockery that sounded awfully _true_ to the American, _It's my fault, it's my fault, it's my fault_.

" _Amerika_ ," Germany sharply ordered, "go and find the others. I shall talk to _China_." He heavily emphasised the final word. "Be the hero and—"

" _Him_? A _hero_ , aru?" The dark-haired man let out a vocal humourless laugh. "Don't make me laugh! Wait, you _did_! At least _I_ do what is best for my people! You both are _traitors_!" He paused, as if considering a thought.

"If you both believe you're all powerful and mighty, how about a _war_?" Alfred watched as Ludwig flinched, possibly recalling the cruel actions and operations he was forced to do a century ago. "It's starting, don't you _feel_ it, aru? Alliances are forming!" The American watched as a maniacal grin found its way onto the Chinese man's face.

"Ah!" The exclamation prompted the German to take a step forward. "Stand down, European, let the adult handle this."

Ludwig inhaled sharply. "China, please. Let us talk about this—"

"There's no time for talk, _Déguó_." There was another pause as Yao fumbled around his suit with one hand whilst retaining eye contact to his two fellow nations. "Well, I'll be merciful. I'll give you a decision." The sound of an object being unsheathed made Alfred's breath hitch. _Oh, God, no_ —

"Cat got your tongue, _hero_?" The knife glistened as China swung it around whilst keeping his gun aimed at them. "How brave are you? Do you dare..." The Asian pointed the knife towards his stomach, its blade lightly grazing his clothing. "...to come near me?"

 _If Germany and I came close, China could easily shoot us; sparking a conflict and, possibly, a war that may drag our allies with us. If we remain, then China could stab himself in mock-suicide; and spark a civil war within him and, possibly, the collapse of the Republic, economic strain, his own stock market crash, or all of the above_ , America bit his lip, _some hero I am. I dragged Ludwig into this!_

"Alfred, _rabbits_ don't speak _ute_ nor eat _nuts_."

 _No, please, no._ The German looked at him with a desperate expression. Alfred's mind automatically deciphered the code.

 _R-U-N_.

Immediately, Ludwig spun his head back to Yao and surged forward. "You're not in your right mind, _China_!"

"I'm glad you agree, aru!" A gunshot immediately followed.

"Ludwig—!" America could only watch with his mouth agape and arm outstretched as the other blond expertly sidestepped away from the bullet. The projectile whizzed by the American and imbedded itself on a tree trunk far behind him. Dumbfounded among other words is all that could describe Alfred as more gunshots were heard.

"If you're so mighty, how would _your_ economy handle?"

As the fight began to unfold, he felt his body grow constricted. Voices began making America's vision blur and spin. Gritting his teeth, he covered his ears with his palms, vainly attempting to block out the words.

 _"—the People's Republic of China officially declares war on the United States of America and its allies—"_

A knot buried itself into the superpower's stomach. _Yao wasn't kidding. China wasn't kidding_. _His government turned batshit crazy and its taking its toll on him._ Then, another thought hit him. _What happened to my people?_ What happened to Alfred's own nation that reflected the Asian's actions?

 _"—its first act of political treason began with the foiled assassination of the President—"_

He could barely hear the laughter of China as he struggled to keep himself upright. His knees wobbled as nausea began rising up to his throat. _You heard the declaration of war, this isn't a joke, you wannabe hero_. He could feel his people panicking, his people torn between begging for neutrality and avenging their leader, his people thirsty for _spilt blood_.

 _"—suicidal bombers' attempts were stopped with SWAT team and, yet again, German intervention helped—"_

 _So Ludwig helping me was a nod to how his people intervened with two acts against my country_. America's body swayed involuntarily, his feet twitching to run. His body refused to obey him as his feet began turning around. _No, no, no! What're you doin'?_ he screamed inwardly at himself, _I should be helping Ludwig detain Yao!_

 _"—lost signal of a shipment that was intended for Europe—"_

A bullet passed by his ear at sonic speed. The blond's body forced his palms off his ears as his body broke off into a mad dash into the trees, unwillingly being forced to abandon his comrade. A rush of adrenaline pumped through his veins, redolent of the vigour within his people. His body went mechanical as it appeared to retrace the steps and paths he took with Y— _China_.

 _"—conspiracy theories of a rising 'better red than dead' propaganda movement in China—"_

 _Shut up, please!_ the American begged the voice in his head. His shoes scraped against the rocky ground as he felt directions lure him to wherever his body forced him to. _Straight ahead, then a 45 degrees turn to the left before continuing on_ , his body manoeuvred him.

He was sure other nations felt it. _And they know it's my fault_.

The superpower felt himself regain control of his body once again as he nearly tripped over a loose root on the ground. He found himself back at where the nations evacuated to. A few notable ones were missing, which made America worry at what might've happened whilst he was busy being _useless_.

Inhaling sharply, he put on the brightest smile he could.

Alfred jumped out of the bushed and opened his mouth, ready to announce his return and reassure everyone that he is the _goddamn_ hero. _Ludwig is strong_ , he told himself, _and if my body tells me to go here, that means my people are doing something_.

His voice box couldn't help but falter when he noticed the grim mood in the atmosphere.

No one appeared to have noticed (or acknowledge) his entrance. _They probably know what happened_ , he thought, _and they blame me_. His carefree smile immediately wiped itself off his face and was replaced by a forlorn one.

 _"Could you even call yourself a_ superpower _?"_

America cringed at the words that rang through his head, numbness weighing down his heart. He hung his head low and faced the ground, a bitter wish within him to bury himself and forget about the world around him as he leaned against a tree. He was only trying to help. He was the hero, wasn't he?

Turning away from the crowd of nations, he furiously wiped the moist developing within his eyes. _Prussia was alive. Gilbert was alive_. He was just in a horrible dream, he probably passed out from fate-knows-what, and England is going to—

 _England_.

Horror suddenly overthrew his numbness as America ripped his gaze from the dull grass to look for his best friend. Prussia used to be close allies with him and, despite the pranks and jokes, they were close friends in _private_! Heck, they even pranked people _together_! Alfred was supposed to be a hero, and he was being an awful and (dare he say) atrocious one. It was _his_ fault for the whole mess, he might as well not let others be burdened by him even more.

The superpower sighed in relief when he found the familiar thin outline of Arthur Kirkland. He stood isolated from the cluster of nations and gazed at the fires raging the Chinese capital. Approaching the 'gentleman', America put on the most reassuring smile he could and tapped his shoulder.

"Iggy—"

The former pirate's head wiped around and glared at him, his green orbs gazing directly at him. America felt naked and _exposed_ , like those eyes were piercing and dismantling his soul piece by piece. They studied him. They held such _hatred_ and _disgust_ ; as if it were a time bomb waiting for its trigger to explode.

"How could you be so happy at a time like this?!" England brought his hand up and, as fast as lightning, his palm collided with America's cheek, sending the surprised superpower sprawled onto the pavement.

"Prussia is dead and you're just smiling like a dimwit! Look around you, you idiotic personification of incompetence! Read the damn atmosphere for once! Nothing can bring him back, _nothing_! You _aren't_ a hero! _You_ caused this mess! You're just a selfish, blind—!"

" _Mon ami_ , _Angleterre_ , zat is enoug'!" France's voice cut off his rant.

"Enough? That is pure and utter _bollocks_! Nothing is enough until this poor excuse of a superpower gets his act together and shuts his bleeding mouth that he claims to be so-called 'eloquent'!"

America merely watched, the world shattering around him. _Finally_ , someone said it to his face. They didn't dare pent up their frustrations and give themselves more handicaps. He needed to be _better_. He needed to save _everyone_. He should stop being such a _burden_. The reminder weighed down heavily on his heart, leaving a sole scar that may never heal.

Francis glared at England as he helped Alfred up, slinging the American's right arm over his shoulder. In a flash, two were engaged in a heated argument; with the Frenchman failing at pacifying the Englishman. America just wished that everything could be _over_ , that China would jump out from the trees and say that everything was a prank, and that Prussia would descend from parting clouds in a bright light in all his awesome and _living_ glory.

Arthur screamed, "It was _his_ people who started this! When there was a declaration of war, _his_ people sunk my battleship. My people _died_ because this hamburger-eating glutton couldn't keep his people in check!"

France had an expression of being taken aback. "I am sure it was just a misunder—"

" _No_ ," the deadly calm tone sharply cut off the Frenchman, "I _felt_ it. I _heard_ it. The voices of my people were pretty bloody clear. An _American_ siege caused my ship to sink." He spat out the word of nationality with scorn written all over his posture and face.

"Ally or enemy, friend or foe, my people want war." The former pirate smiled cruelly, an eerie aura emitting itself from him. "As much as I want to play around and have tea, a treaty has been signed; _The Empire Agreement_. You lot have earned a grave enemy. Soon, you'll regret messing with the legacy of the British Empire."

America should've disagreed, he should've snapped at England, he should've _stopped_ him. But all the feelings bubbling inside him contradicted that. His hero complex wasn't allowing this. It was an internal battle; his people, his Americans were torn and conflicted.

So, he did the only thing he could and smiled in defeat. "Okay."

And with that one word, Arthur flicked his head in the opposite direction and sauntered away. As he left, America forced himself to revert his attention away from the Englishman's retreating figure.

He could practically _feel_ the concerned gaze France had. He had managed to continue keeping up a dainty smile, but he knew, deep down, that the glistening of his blue eyes gave away what truly happened inside of him. _This is the life of a nation; what our people say is what we do_ , the blond bowed his head, _and we have no choice but to continue living_.

" _Amérique_..." the Frenchman murmured, "do not fret, we s'all fix zis... If you want, we can go home... I am sure _Angleterre_ was merely j-joking on war..." The stutter did not go missed by the superpower as Francis held out his own right hand— a silent offer for a hug.

 _No, I don't want to go home_ , America thought, _I'll just make everything worse_. After all, he was a poor excuse for a national superpower and a hero, _right_? He caused war to start and spread among other nations, so why stay? Why continue forcing his own problems onto others?

With an internally unanimous decision, Alfred pushed away from France, causing his ally to stumble back in shock. America walked the opposite direction England did. Denying and denying and _denying_ the tears in his eyes, he forced himself to speed up. His walking quickly escalated to full-blown running, to the point where the Frenchman's shouts and panicked screams turned into nothing but incoherence. All he could hear was the same statement over and over again, words he himself uttered centuries ago; a resurfaced memory of his... _recklessness_.

 _"You used to be so great."_

Line Break

Russia just wanted to have more friends. _Why are people so repulsed by me?_ He frowned. _Is it because there is a war?_ The Slavic nation knew his boss was currently busy forming up alliances. _A doctrine arose vithin the country of China_ , Ivan recalled, _about the search for nev land,_ da _?_

Something told the purple-eyed nation that he should look for Yao. Perhaps his boss was looking for an alliance? Russia shrugged and followed his instincts; as long as he gets more friends, he'll be happy.

He heard the voices of his people when they reacted to the declaration of war.

 _"...red shall rise! REVOLUTION."_

 _"—Ve are the emerging povers, da?"_

 _"United ve stand as a nation!"_

Ivan, as a person, did not know where to side. He settled with following whatever his boss tells him. After all, the personification _was_ heavily influenced by his people and leaders like his fellow nations.

Gripping his pipe, he swatted a branch away from his face. _Maybe Yao would be my friend, he's probably misunderstood for the accident_ , the thought brought hope for the tall nation as his boots crunched against the fallen leaves and twigs on the forest floor. A sensation of—what do Germans call it again?— _waldeinsamkeit_ washed over him, a feeling of peaceful woodland solitude.

He hummed as he broke another tree branch.

"I vill follow my boss, da? _Sudar_ vill help me make more friends! Kolkolkol..." Russia smiled as he emerged out of a different side of the forest. He spotted a familiar dark-haired man and began to walk towards him.

China was standing within a plain, pacing around with a troubled expression on his face. _Maybe I should give him a hug, da?_ Ivan thought, _it might make him feel better_. After all, the Slavic nation could relate to the actions performed by the Asian; he too has been forced to do actions of the wicked, yet he is used to it.

 _"—seek out an alliance with the People's Republic of China—"_

The voice of his people made him smile wider in excitement. Maybe Yao would willingly become his friend! Need not there to be any orders from his boss to torture or kill to have friendly relations with other nations...

...for _now_.

As the Asian spun his heel, he stopped abruptly when his eyes trailed its way towards Russia's face. "Comrade!" He smiled as he gained the attention of the dark-haired man. _This is my chance!_ Ivan thought excitedly.

"Go away, aru!"

The Slavic nation carried on walking, nonetheless. "Comrade, I'm here for you!" He kept a wide smile despite the raised knife that was pointed at him. He stretched out his arms, ignoring the dangerous atmosphere. _Sudar vould vant me to make allies_ , ecstasy began to fuel Russia further, _and I'll be doing good vhile making friends!_

"No!" China took a step back, his two hands that were gripping the blade shook. "Y-you'll get hurt—!"

The knife was dropped.

Ivan embraced the shorter man, wrapping his arms around the Asian's waist. The European was vaguely aware of the blood stained hands that attempted to push him away. "Ve could be friends, da?"

The question had been harmless, of course. It had not the dark intention his boss would've made him use.

Which would explain his surprise when the dark-haired man roughly pushed him. "I'm not your friend!" Yao spat him, "I never was, aru!" Russia looked down onto his coat, sadness weighing him down. Red palm marks stained his outerwear, a reminder of the Asian's words.

"So do me a favour and leave me _alone_."

Those words made the European wince as China seized the opportunity to storm off. The blond did not miss the few drops of tears that fell down Yao's face. The Asian wiped his face on his blazer sleeve with his back to Ivan. _I should follov him_ , the thought of abandoning his comrade broke his heart.

 _Vhy are people alvays running avay from me?_

Despite the gaping hole in his heart, he followed the dark-haired man. The latter had gained a running start as his figure was beginning to shrink into the darkness. Ivan trailed behind China silently, gripping his forgotten pipe. Other nations might call Ivan a 'stalker' for doing so, but 'desperate times called for desperate measures', as some people say.

He pouted, _friends are nice, aren't they, da? If only I had more.._.

Russia would treasure whoever accepted his friendship, he, as a _person_ , was never one to betray or double-cross anyone. This revelation, sadly, resulted in _him_ getting backstabbed. There were only a handful of people he could consider as his friends. The blond used his time to reflect as he followed the dark-haired nation.

Alfred was his friend, right? So was Toris! And Eduard and Raivis! Especially his elder _sestra_ , Katyusha! They all said they were— _are_ his friends! Even if their nations hate Russia, the personifications didn't hate _Ivan_ , right?

"Kolkolkol..." he muttered.

 _Maybe if I keep telling it to myself, it vould come true, da?_ The Slavic nation pouted before sighing soundlessly. He's tried and attempted all he could to get other people to like him, but they always seem to push him away...

"The child I found that day within the bamboo..." What was his comrade singing? A lullaby, maybe? Russia shielded his body behind an unfamiliar pillar. "...I raised him to be sturdy and strong, aru!" _Ah, so he is referring to_ Yaponiya _, or Japan_ , the blond frowned, _Japan vasn't so nice to me before, da?_

"D-do you remember the moon we gazed at t-together...?" Ivan glanced past his cover, finding the Chinese man sobbing and kneeling on the concrete. The European's first instinct was to go comfort the Asian, but he stopped advancing when he noticed a second figure near Yao.

" _W_ - _wǎnshàng hǎo_!" the greeting came out in a strangled tone, "the rabbit is p-pounding medicine... aru..."

As if summoned by the melody, Japan stepped out of the darkness in all his glory. "This sky extends to the ends of the e... earth..." China's voice wavered. Kiku's face notably softened at the sight of fellow Asian.

"The wind runs through this vast land!" Yao pounded his fist on the ground, tears streaming down his face. His voice was hoarse and cracked, nonetheless was the song forced out of his lips. "Proudly, like a dragon!" The nation's head was dipped close to the floor as his bangs lightly grazed the concrete.

" _Chugoku-san_ ," Japan softly spoke, "prease—"

"The star that is suspended on the red is flown high!" China cried out. _Oh, so comrade is performing the_ kowtow, Ivan realised, _as if he is boving to Japan for, ah, forgiveness?_ "And shines on us, aru!"

The Japanese man walked closer to the other Asian and knelt down beside him. The island nation rubbed soothing circles on Yao's back as reassuring words were traded between the two. _Vhy did Yao accept him but reject me...?_ the question popped itself up into the Russian's head.

He was intruding a private moment, but the Slavic nation could not help but remain rooted on spot.

"Ai yaa yaa…" At that very moment, the Chinese man stopped bowing and performed an action that surprised both the eavesdropper and Japan.

"In the grief of this unending world—" Arms wrapped around the kneeling Kiku and pulled him close. "Why is it that people fight, aru?" Those words struck a blow on Russia as China stroked the other Asian's hair. It was a gesture of affection that made Ivan's heart ache, _how long had it been since someone had done that to him_?

"Regardless of the injury, the day it will he... heal will come, aru. L-leave everything to me!" Sobs wracked the Chinese man's body as his song reached its final conclusion. "Ai yaa yaa..."

The sound of hiccuping resonated.

"Even if our countries are different." Japan pulled away from the embrace. "If our worrds are different," he murmured, "if our characters are different..." He stared intently at the other man's eyes.

"I arways want to..." Kiku ripped his gaze away before staring at the moon. "...gaze at the same moon as you."

Nostalgia overwhelmed Russia as he leaned against the pillar. He was jealous, he was _envious_. Most of all, he was disappointed at himself. He had failed his comrades, he was supposed to be there for them and all he did was _watch_!

Even more, he felt envious of their close relationship. It _hurt_ watching the two siblings reconcile when people flee from only one glance at the European. What does he have to do just to make _friends_? Liquid blurred his vision. _I'll try harder, and_ Sudar _vill help me make more friends!_ Ivan brought a gloved hand to his cheek, feeling watery matter trickle down slowly.

 _They vill become one vith Mother Russia_.

 **FOOTNOTES**

 **PRUSSIA'S VISIT: So, you all know how, in canon, Grandpa Rome could visit Italy as a spirit? Think of that as how Prussia did it.**

 **"...The words were let out as the albino claimed his last laugh..." Wordplay, woo! 'Last laugh' is a figure of speech referring to victory after one's apparent defeat, but this may also be taken literally as Prussia's final laugh before his spirit moved on. /piano falls on me/**

 **""Stay out of this, aru!" China snapped." 'Snapped' may refer to the act of speaking irritably or you could take it as China losing his self-control.**

 **"Many have deduced America to overly-trusting and extremely (blissfully) oblivious to the world." The 'world' may be taken as the personifications or as the planet. I'm so punny, hah. /hit by brick/**

 **""Alfred,** _ **rabbits**_ **don't speak** _ **ute**_ **nor eat** _ **nuts**_ **."" In the World Wars, there were military codes based off of the Native American languages. Hitler sent thirty Nazis to learn 'em before WW2 started, but the languages were too complicated ['MURICA]. I used the English version of the Navajo words. I tweaked the system a tad bit too.**

 **"...** _ **'better red than dead'.**_ **.." I just felt like adding a reference to a Cold War slogan. Red means communism. 'Better dead than red', the opposite of the reference, was used in 'Murica against communism in the country.**


End file.
